


Eight Dysfunctional Demigods (Plus A Sentient Metal Dragon) Against The World

by Dadzawa



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, everyone gets to say the fuck word at least five times, listen these kids are what a professional might refer to as Fucked and I just want them to be happy, nico gets to say it twelve times, no beta we die like pan, percy and annabeth get to say it ten times, uhhhhh canon-typical violence at most??? not planning much explicit fighting tho, wait I forgot hazel is legally prohibited from saying fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadzawa/pseuds/Dadzawa
Summary: Y’all know those Avengers fics from circa 2012? They’ve all got rooms/floors/whatever in Avengers tower and they’re the found family to end all found families? Yeah that but it’s the Seven plus Nico and they’re all traveling the world on the Argo II.
Kudos: 16





	Eight Dysfunctional Demigods (Plus A Sentient Metal Dragon) Against The World

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello welcome to my self-indulgent bullshit!! Couple things to keep in mind:  
> 1) canon can kiss my fucking ass  
> 2) the only ship allowed in this fic is the Argo II  
> 3) lmao what’s a plot  
> 4) no crit, constructive or otherwise, I want this to be technically imperfect and Dumb

“Why do you do that?” Percy asked. As one, the table turned to look at him. “Deflect with humor, I mean.”

Leo tenses, but he doesn’t let the smile slip from his face. “What do you—”

“No, I noticed it, too,” Jason cuts in. “You’re really good at dodging questions, dude.” Nobody is looking at Percy anymore–they’re all staring at him, and Leo was bad with expressions but he knew he didn’t like the way they were eyeing him. He dropped his eyes and sat back, smile nonexistent, and fiddled with his discarded fork. Nobody spoke, and the silence weighed heavier on Leo’s chest with every breath. 

“You learn a lot on the streets,” he started. “Where the safe places to sleep are. How to make $5 last. The skills you need to survive: the things that make you valuable. I don’t know if any of you noticed, but I’m not exactly the strongest guy around. Or the smartest. Or the best-looking. Humor, though.” He pauses for a moment, stops fiddling with the fork. “Everybody tolerates a comedian. As long as you’re entertaining, people wanna keep you around. Plus,” he adds before he can talk himself out of it, “if you’re laughing, you’re not crying.” Soul bared, he finally raised his eyes to look around the table again. He snorted humorlessly and tasted flames in the back of his throat. “And nobody pities someone who’s always smiling,” he gets out before he pushes back from the table and exits the room.

Shoulders tight, jaw clenched, he went to his sanctuary on the _Argo II_ : the engine room. Machines don’t pity anyone. Machines don’t notice things you wish they wouldn’t, and if they do, you can always reprogram them. People, however, don’t take reprogramming very well. 

Stepping into the engine room, hearing the familiar hum of machinery and the comforting weight and warmth of the air had some of the tension leeching out of Leo’s shoulders. He took a deep breath, forcing the familiar metallic scent into his bones, and went about his daily maintenance. The _Argo_ was a damn fine build, and Festus kept a close eye on the interior health of the ship, but Leo still preferred to double-check everything himself. _“Machines give you numbers, but eyes and experience give you insight, mijo.”_ As he worked, he let his thoughts drift, let himself think back to the conversation from before. He knew there was more he could’ve said, more explanations for why he chose humor and not anger or solitude, and he dimly heard himself muttering his thoughts aloud in Spanish as he worked. It all soothed him, his ramblings blending with the engine’s hum and the sound of his tools at work, forming the sweetest lullaby he’d ever need. 

“Y estamos Gucci,” he finally says, shutting the last panel and returning his tools, one by one, to his toolbelt. He turns to the door and freezes, locking eyes with Nico, poised at the door with one arm raised like he’s about to knock. For a moment they stare at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, Nico knocks, and the spell is broken. 

“I’m not interrupting you, right?” he asks, still hovering outside the door. Leo shakes his head.

“Nah, you’re good. You can come in, too, ah–here, actually—”

He walks over to a panel on the wall and pulls a concealed lever, then steps out of the way so a bench can swing down. He sits at one end and pats the seat next to him. “Come, sit.”

Cautiously, Nico steps into the room. Leo watches with faint amusement as he gingerly picks his way along the catwalk to the bench Leo sits on and perches next to him.

“So,” Leo starts with a grin, “what can I do for you, oh cherubic one?”

Rather than answer immediately, Nico took a moment to watch the engine at work, observing how all the various parts moved to keep the Argo II aloft. “What you said, about learning what you needed to survive–you’ve been alone a lot, haven’t you?”

Leo snorts. “What are you talking about? The engine room is the life of the party!” He sweeps his arm wide, proudly displaying the deserted expanse of metal pipes, gears, valves, and tanks filling the room around, above, and below them. 

Brow furrowed, Nico turns to him and replies, “I don’t just mean now. You’ve been alone for years, haven’t you?”

Leo isn’t surprised that the question comes. What surprises him is who asks it, and that he doesn’t look at Leo like he’s fragile. He can’t parse the look on his face exactly, but doesn’t make his skin crawl and his hands start smoking.

So he answers honestly.

“Yeah. I’ve been on my own pretty much since I was eight.” Leo doesn’t look away as he says it, but Nico’s expression doesn’t change. He just nods once, so Leo keeps talking. “My mom’s relatives didn’t–wouldn’t take me, so I went into foster care. Pro tip–don’t. I ran away nine times, got kicked out another three times, oh–once I almost got deported. Fuck ICE.”

“Ice?”

“Immigration and Customs Enforcement. They’re responsible for making sure all the dirty brown people, like me, get sent back to Mexico where they belong–never mind that I was born _here,_ or that not every brown Spanish-speaker is from Mexico,” Leo bites out savagely. 

“Leo, your hair is on fire,” Nico says before he can get into an impassioned rant about his experience with ICE. Sure enough, the faint crackle of flames is audible through the sounds of the engine. Cursing, Leo pats his hair out and sighs.

“Anyway. The one thing that stayed the same was what made people laugh. The shitty foster parents were less shitty if you were funny. The street kids let you be if you were funny. All I had to do was be funny enough so I’d be okay until I left again.”

“And the funnier you are, the less okay you are,” Nico finished.

Leo didn’t say a word. Silence grew between them again, broken only by the ever-present hum of the engine.

Nico huffed. “I’m not good with people. Unless they’re dead, of course. But I–I get it. Being alone. Unwanted.” He glanced at Leo out of the corner of his eye. “Not knowing who to trust.” He shifted his gaze back to the tangle of metal in front of them. “I’ve been more or less alone since I was ten or so. That’s when my sister died, when I ran away from Camp Half-Blood. I’ve been around the dead more than the living ever since, and I don’t–well. I’m not good with living people.”

Leo looked away and snorted humorlessly. “Of course, you would have a tragic backstory to rival my own, Lord Edge,” he joked. “You think everyone on this ship has similar shit?”

“No, I don’t. Jason grew up with the Romans, Piper had her dad, Annabeth had Camp Half-Blood fairly early, Percy had his mom and the camp, Hazel had Sammy and then the Romans, and Frank was rich. So. Probably not,” Nico finished, counting off on his fingers. Leo didn’t know whether the news made him want to laugh or cry, so he chose the familiar option.

“Damn, even by demigod standards we got stiffed,” he cackled, tipping his head back until it rested against the wall behind him. He stared at the ceiling and let his laughter peter out, though a smile still hovered at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not good with people, either. Unless they’re machines, of course. But–thanks. It helped,” he says, somewhat startled to find he meant it. He feels better about not constantly entertaining them–not great, not okay, not even close–but better.

And better is a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! I’m not sure when this will be updated, but I’ve got several ideas for other scenes and scenarios with these eight, so stay tuned!!!! Feel free to scream at me in the comments or [on tumblr!!!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kingdomheartstrash)


End file.
